


in case you come searching

by sweetdanger



Series: N M S [2]
Category: TWICE (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetdanger/pseuds/sweetdanger
Summary: (self-indulgent and completely oversharing)
Relationships: Hirai Momo/Im Nayeon, Hirai Momo/Im Nayeon/Minatozaki Sana, Hirai Momo/Minatozaki Sana, Im Nayeon/Minatozaki Sana
Series: N M S [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578784
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	in case you come searching

**Author's Note:**

> (self-indulgent and completely oversharing)

_And what about you? Do you still write? I wonder if you make time for it._

_I_ _wonder—always did, always do, might always will—if your words still carry even the slightest hint of me._

///

They remember the first one. Most of it.

There was a ball. Corsets. Soles of their feet hurting. After, much later, a bonfire. In which there was also rum. Fiddles, harps, women. And, as the night grew brighter, three of them in bed. One is Nayeon, and the others, beautiful. 

One stirred awake, the second still asleep. If she muttered something in her slumber, the first one thought it was important. Very much so that she leaned in, softly whispered prayers to the second, _my darling,_ kissed the gap between her brows, _breakfast._

“Pardon me,” Nayeon braves out among the singing birds of the morning. The other is still deep in dreams. There’s a but. “Where am I?”

“Good question.”

Nayeon grows even more confused when the woman stands up, revealing her bare backside. She reaches for a robe—velvet, rich, sewn especially for the wealthy. “Oh.”

“Worry not, it isn’t mine,” the woman admits in a hushed voice, sophistication in her words. Nayeon stood at once, gathering her belongings as if the room was a forest on fire and she was a deer late for supper, yet a tug to her wrist was all it took to take her back. “No need to be hasty. The guards will be much too happy to see you like this.”

Nayeon looks down. “No, I’m—” A mere hunter. Not from here. I have a knife. Where is my knife? “Is that gold?”

Her mouth that never shuts up. If her mother was here—thank goodness she isn’t—Nayeon would have gotten spanked and scolded for being so ill-mannered. They both look at the mirror, and the woman holds up a hairpin. It’s shining, elegant, yes, actual gold.

“You can try it on.” 

She really shouldn’t. “I have never seen such...”

“The only one of its kind,” the woman takes pride.

“I cannot take my eyes off of it.” Nayeon is at a loss for words. This kind of gold could feed her whole family for the rest of their lives. “Sorry. My mouth, it can be—”

Stuck, searing, too much.

“You’re fine,” she tells Nayeon. “I know how your mouth can be.”

The memories have yet to come back. “Of course.”

“Hold it, Nayeon, but breathe. The autumn wind is free for everyone who wants to live. That’s what His Majesty said last night, before everyone took hold of their drinks.” She’s being pushed down to a chair by strong hands—firm, grounded, delicate. “And look, his daughter is awake.”

Nayeon thought of the morrow, how she woke up in a place where she doesn’t belong, how this woman with pitch-black hair and sunset eyes knows her name, which all made her think— “Right, the sun. It’s rising soon. I should go.”

But the woman walks back to the bed as if held in a trance, sitting on the edge, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the other woman’s ear, who purrs quietly in her palm.

“Or…” Nayeon watches, feeling captivated by the moment playing out. “Not.”

It was a painting to tell. Her hair was long and also black, twisted softly on the ends like waves from the north. And her eyes, golden brown, so much like the other woman’s. People were once thought to be from the same dust, until the sheets fell down from this woman’s chest, revealing the wondrous skin they so selfishly hid. She wasn’t of this world.

(Nayeon can’t take her eyes off of her.)

She leaves the hairpin in the drawer. Stealing was never this hard.

“You have enough food in your quarters to feed a whole town, seriously—sorry,” she thinks out loud after dressing properly, hearing a playful giggle, but she let it slip. The other two are in their robes, naked underneath. In the room birthed this wild grace, where there are wild women and wild fruits. “In my town, we share bunks with our sisters.”

“We share, too,” one of them tells, sipping on freshly-brewed tea while staring directly at Nayeon. “Many things.”

“But you aren’t sisters.” 

She feels her cheeks flush when one of them giggles again, calls her adorable, tells her to sit down. It’s like she doesn’t have a sheath knife around her waist. Like she has never struck a prey. Like she was the prey.

“Nayeon,” and she looks up, completely defenseless. She’d like to be called again. “Last night—I can relish and think of again, can I not?”

There was a question stuck in her throat— “I woke up bare, it must be clear as the lakes. But I do not remember any of it.”

Confusion flashed on both their faces, but it was gone the moment it dawned—they were holding hands on the table, telling Nayeon three things: you were there, clutching the sheets, dangerously loud; adoration disguised in the taste of fire and rum; also, “Need we remind you?”, we did so again and after, it and more.

“What?” She is biting on a piece of warm bread, choking, and holding onto dear life. “No, no, but... your names might help bring them back?”

“Dear, just last night, I remember,” and you should, too, for we had said some secrets, endearments, shared in threes, “you knew them so well, the whole kingdom must have been appalled.”

“ _Sana!_ Heavens, darling,” a reprimand, a teasing remark directed at Nayeon, while she kisses the back of _Sana’s_ hand. “Stop making the poor thing blush. Look what you’ve done.”

Nayeon melts in her seat, weak and suffering.

“But, _Momo,_ do you not see?” The woman, Sana, stares at Nayeon’s lips while licking her own. “Indeed, I am looking; and how vexingly stunning she is even when flustered.”

“Especially when flustered.”

“So,” Nayeon clears her throat. She should get a hold of herself. Should she willingly feel this small in front of two women—yes, perhaps, inevitable. Does she deserve basking in this scorching summer— “it’s Sana and Momo.”

“Always,” said with a sweet smile, beating the bleeding sunlight. Sana is immaculate and Nayeon feels the surging need to bow in reverence. “It will always be Sana and Momo. Oh, that feels good to say out loud. Tell my father that and he will banish you.”

“Add Nayeon now, too.” Momo tilts her head; gorgeous, waiting, questioning, “Are the memories rushing back?”

“My memories?” Nayeon shifts in the chair—hell of a rumpus, loud music, _What are your names,_ tight crowd, drinks passed— “Yes, well, not that I _am_ thinking of it.”

Doors opened clumsily, _Sana,_ dress pulling, _Momo,_ hand pulling.

“Uh, at least not right now.” Chemises on the floor, _It’s always Sana and Momo,_ hair pulling. “Not in front of _you_ whilst we’re having this immensely wonderful breakfast. That would be rude, wouldn’t it?”

“Goodness _,_ _Momoring,_ let me have her again,” Sana practically begs, along with those eyes that made Nayeon want to treat her like a rabbit. One shoot, one throw of a knife, and you can be _such_ a good meal. For a moment, Nayeon is there, behind the trees, stalking— _Are you going to be good_ —but she retracts, stalling, because it’s actually the opposite. She’s the one who’s trapped under these women’s magnetic auras. What’s worse is that they are nothing but sweet—so likable, and so— _unkillable_. “If she also pleases, that is. We’ve made such a gorgeous mess, I’d be delighted to clean it up.”

Momo laughs.

“Behave, darling.” The room is suddenly so full that Nayeon had to shake her head. “She’s overwhelmed.”

“My thoughts, they’re intrusive.” Nayeon comes in on the right passing moment. “I apologize. The breakfast is lovely. This all just feels... familiar.”

Sana and Momo look at her like they knew, but they actually didn’t. They understood though. They felt the same.

“It was the first time we’ve brought someone in here, if you must know,” Sana says, eyes glinting with _More tea? Bread? Jam?_ _Indulge, please, in our company._ “But, if I did miss you in the past— _how foolish_ —curse me. I would have remembered you.”

Nayeon chooses bread. Momo smiles at her and she smiles back, focusing on the warmth enveloping the room.

  
  
  


“Stay,” this was the endearment; Momo’s mouth on her neck. “You’ve filled this room, beloved, with a million traces of you.”

“Please,” that was the secret. Sana leans on the bed frame with a lazy smile, properly spent and breathing heavily. “At least one, I’m sure, would lead us to where you will be. Correct?”

“Will you look for me?” Nayeon echoes what three hearts wanted, leaving chaste kisses on their cheeks before drifting to sleep. She misses their shared looks and the way they smiled at each other knowingly. “When the sun rises, in this life and the next, look for me.”

//

In this life, one of the many in which she forgot, Sana belonged in a palace.

She was standing in the weeds, overlooking a picturesque view. Young, unaware, still learning. The same height as the fence.

“You’re so tiny,” the maid’s daughter teases. She has this funny hair and a severely annoying height. As a seven-year-old, Sana thinks that everyone bigger than her just looks like an insult personified. But then this stranger pinches her nose, leaving it red and numb, because it’s winter and she’s sensitive and _no one_ should even touch her skin. “Momo, isn’t she tiny?”

It doesn’t feel insulting anymore—just a tad bit infuriating.

There’s another name on Sana’s tongue. She hopes that this _Momo_ would say it so she would know.

“Nayeon, don’t be like that.” Ah, there it is, said in a loud whisper. Momo gestures for Nayeon to come to her. They shared another conversation that Sana wished so badly to hear, which was too embarrassing to admit. She got pieces of the last part and it made her feel both proud and scared. “That means she’s the princess, again. And it looks like she doesn’t remember.”

Why the whispers, talking about Sana like they know her?

“I’m perfectly aware that I’m a princess. How can I possibly forget?”

“No, what I mean is—”

“Do not _ever,_ ” Sana says too firmly, too quickly, “and I mean _ever,_ interrupt a royal when she’s talking. Let alone the direct heir to the throne.”

That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

She’s crossing her arms and standing as tall as she could, walking quickly towards the fence, and deeming the conversation over. She doesn’t have to ask for their names now, nor to stay—not with the low class—that would be unbecoming. And they don’t need to ask for her name either.

Apparently, everyone around here knows her. It made her feel big. And small. Another thing she would never admit.

“Princess Sana,” Nayeon calls with a curtsey. Sana stops in her tracks. She simply nods to acknowledge. It’s starting to come back—that’s what she was always taught. Even if these two _peasants_ aren’t greeting her properly, she should acknowledge. She’s seven, turning eight in two weeks. Starting to acknowledge her duties, acknowledge her people, acknowledge— “Do you want to play with us, Your Highness?”

_Yes._ “No,” was what came out. Her dress is starting to feel heavy. The bell rings from the veranda, signaling that today’s Master is there and her scheduled class will begin soon. She will learn how to write. “I must leave.”

She did leave and did not once look back. When the princess was out of earshot, Momo kicked Nayeon’s shin, earning a surprised yelp and a glare from the older girl.

One soft hit per word, like she hasn’t eaten for days. “That was our first and only chance of talking to her and you ruined it.”

“Hey, it’s not me who did not bathe!” Nayeon pushes her on the wet grass, rolling in the fields. The wind was beginning to get colder. Perhaps the first snow will fall anytime soon. She tickles Momo to warm her own trembling hands. But Momo’s skin is frosty, and Nayeon's own warmth can only do so much. “I’m older than you.”

Momo scoffs under Nayeon's hold. “You’re _always_ older.”

“And your parents do not have a job at the palace. You work with the horses. Give a little respect to my name.”

Momo pushes back, stands up, and brushes down her clothes. She looks weary as if she’s worked all her life. Nayeon wants nothing more but to cover the holes on her shirt. If only hers isn’t so full of them, too.

Momo clears her throat and bends at a perfect angle. She did all that while wearing a tired, playful smile. She’s done this already, bow before Nayeon. Some years ago, in a different time.

“Apologies, Your Highness. How may I serve you today?”

Nayeon was laughing, tearing up. Happy. She pauses and gestures for Momo to rise. Sometimes, when life reminds them enough, their habits do not go away with time.

“Let’s ride horses again. And climb trees.”

Bad idea, Momo thought.

“Good idea.” She pointed in a direction and felt Nayeon’s heart soar. “To the trees.”

It’s exhausting to play with Nayeon. Momo has proven this time and time again. Life after life, in all the alternate worlds.

(Momo’s secret? Just let her win.)

On the way to the stables, they see Sana from a narrow glass window of her study. She is sitting on her knees, holding a brush delicately while the Master walks around fanning himself. Her fingers are still chubby, but her nose is high, skin porcelain. Her back as straight as an arrow, lips as red as a rose, hair as black as a crow’s feather.

She is sublime in this life, just as she was in all of them.

The complete opposite of Nayeon and Momo right now—in their tattered clothes, hungry stomachs, and dry mouths.

“Do you think she would remember? Even a scanty… _itsy_ bit?”

Nayeon laughs at Momo’s accent. It’s quite apparent she isn’t from here, has traveled long just to get to her. But Nayeon knew what her words meant, would’ve understood even if they were of another world.

There's been a lingering fear in Momo’s heart lately, ever since she noticed how it works.

The memories are not slow—unlike a drunken night’s escapades—they only come or they don’t. Momo has never experienced it, the latter. Has never forgotten, not even once. Not yet. She wonders if she will ever. Wonders if Nayeon and Sana are scared, too.

She has looked for them in every life, searching every nook, every corner, waiting if they will remember.

“We found her,” Momo hears Nayeon say, her voice thick with sadness and longing. She’s somewhere far and distant. “Sana. We found her. And you ran miles, in sun and snow, just to find me.”

Sana puts down her brush, looking up at the teacher. She places her hands together on her lap, prim and perfect.

“Yes, I did quite well for a motherless eight-year-old, didn’t I, beloved?” Momo jokes, but Nayeon’s sad smile remains. Their hands cannot share warmth, both are almost brittle and cold. “I’d do it over and again.”

“Forgetting was awful. There wasn’t even the sound of your laughter. My heart missed you, yearned, every day, though I knew not who, what, or where you were.” Nayeon sighs, smoke coming out of her mouth. Her heart sounds like a drum, compensating for all the lost time. “Now you and I can play together. And we can watch her through the windows.”

Before this one, in a life she remembers she has forgotten, Nayeon was a commoner. This was what Momo told her. Sana and Momo found her in a cabin when she was already ill and old. They were both knights then, fighting for the wrong monarch. They wished they had come sooner.

Momo feels light even in the drastic winter. This body is young and sickly, she can feel it. The heart she owns is breaking, or probably close to stopping. She can’t really tell, might not know the difference, so she voices out what is in Nayeon’s instead. “You’re right. This is enough.”

One more second—etching Sana’s name on all the trees, mementos of the day they spent—then they strode together towards the horses. Momo offered to carry Nayeon, and of course, Nayeon didn’t forget to exclaim _Onwards my noble steed!_ as if they needed the whole palace to hear of their last adventure.

They ran headfirst into the stables, forgetting and remembering. Momo’s breathing turned shallow, eventually slowed, and Nayeon promised to find her in the next.

The princess looked back a second too late.

//

The message said Nayeon will come back soon.

And Sana has been trying to figure out what _soon_ meant. It could be one hour from now. One day. But the last time Nayeon said _soon,_ it turned out to be one Earth year. That’s 4300 Jupiter days.

Sana presses a green button, and all at once, everything falls. Including her floating toothbrush. She winces when she hears a loud thump in the next room.

“That was me! Turned on Gravity. Forgot you weren’t strapped!”

The metallic door slides open and shows Momo in her most sleepy state, scratching her head and groaning. “Can you please not shout that word into the literal void so early in the morning?”

“What, _strapped_?” Sana asks obliviously. “Sorry? What do I call it?”

Momo heads to the pit and peeks through the small window. It’s dark out. Still space. And this Sana is from when they were young girls in lilac-dyed dresses.

“Forgiven,” she says. “Only because it’s not morning yet.”

“Correct, Captain Obvious.” Sana gurgles and spits the foam, which makes Momo whine because— _she should have swallowed_ —that’s another thing to dispose of when they land on Earth. Or Venus. “Good sleep?”

They have a radio, and they have a song. It’s saying _happy birthday_ cheerily on loop. A good song sent to them from Somewhere (probably Earth). Momo still hasn’t figured it out.

“Mm, I didn’t even dream. Didn’t notice you left.” She pouts, yawns, and then stretches. There are only a few people who look pretty in tracksuits. Momo is first in line. “It’s morning. What’s for breakfast?”

There are eggs and bacon in space. Apples, cherries, and peaches, too. They’re from some base laboratory they visited (probably from the Neptune course). Saved, frozen, processed, turned into a paste. Their last stop was rather... fruitful.

“The transmission said she’ll be back soon.” The bacon tastes like complete garbage. But Sana can’t be picky. Not in this life. “I read it while you were sleeping. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Did you tell her to get more meat?”

“She’s not out there for groceries. She left without a word, Momo.” The eggs. Also garbage. She just wants to stop slurping pastes. Maybe Earth has one more bed for her, or three. “Using our extra ship, which still is, in my judgment, a malfunctioning pile of—and your outdated invention only lets me send four Martian syllables. _Four._ My knowledge is limited, but not _that_ limited. What can I possibly say with four syllables? Are you listening to me?”

Momo starts her breakfast. The song ends.

“I told you to remind her. She tends to forget.”

“She—” There is an angry heat rising in Sana’s chest. It doesn’t help that it is much hotter now that they are nearing Mars. “She _will_ remember.”

“I wasn’t talking about—Wait, don’t be like this.” Angry heat turns into soft warmth when Momo’s hands were suddenly on hers, replacing the tube of eggs and bacon. Her eyes are concerned. Her heartbeat, familiar. In this one, Sana remembers. That’s more than enough. “Oh, darling, don’t cry.”

Momo ate peaches. Sana almost hums because of how good it tastes. Only if she wasn’t so mad. Not at Momo.

Ironically, at the Universe.

That soft warmth turns into violent waves. The emptiness in space makes anything possible, draws anything from inside out. Emotions, memories, Nayeon.

“What if she doesn’t come back?” Sana hiccups in the kiss. Then those violent waves turn into fears. Emotions can be buried. Memories can be forgotten. Nayeon can leave. “She finds nothing in us, no home in us. How could that be, when we spent many, _many_ lives, many nights, _together_ —”

It looked like a glitch in the system—if there ever is one—when they first saw Nayeon on Mars. She didn’t try holding a conversation. Just waved hello, kept treading, and continued watering her plant. She named it Candy in her own language. Sana felt played.

“When she comes back,” Momo says as she presses the green button, their feet lifting slowly, “and she will,” she adds, leading Sana to the bed, strapping their bodies together, and hugging her from behind. Sana wished she could see her face. “We will be together. We’ll check on Mars and find Sattang, her one-leafed plant, and it should be enough.”

Sana’s voice is small, her body is fragile, and her heart is breaking. But she secretly smiles when Momo kisses her nape. “Even if she doesn’t remember?”

“Especially if she doesn’t remember,” Momo says. “We found her. That’s enough.”

Silence, only the whirring engines. This conversation is particularly new, and so— “She said that, didn’t she?”

“Technically,” Momo replies, what do _you_ remember, “yes.”

“When?” What did I miss, which world was it, “Was I bad? Like that time—”

“ _Nay,_ darling. You were a princess then.” Momo’s heart sounds like an old lullaby. She wishes Sana remembers this one. “Nayeon loved horses, resolute as ever to win all races, but remember—before that—when we were knights?”

She sees Sana nod. Of course not, Momo thinks. You don’t remember.

“I beat her ass in all the races.” Sometimes, it all gets mixed up. Momo becomes a collection of fall and summer, Saturn and Earth, renaissance and contemporary, classical and rock, old and new. “You were too far from me, both of you.”

And sometimes, they make stories out of the universes they were in.

“Who found who first?”

But Momo's heart sounds the same. In all lives, it continues to sing for Nayeon and Sana to hear.

“I won that race, too. I let her think she did. You know how she gets, right?” Momo shifts on the bed, finding it exciting how far they have come and how much further they could go. “I saw you standing in an open yard, against the lake. Two Sundays later, your father hired new maids for the palace. Nayeon was the daughter of one. Their family fed me bread, even with the little they had.”

“Because of Nayeon?”

“Because she remembered me, yes.”

“And you?” Sana yawns, feeling Momo’s heart against her back, tucking all its stories in a safe pocket. She can’t cry in space. It would be a mess. “What were you like?”

“Me? My body was very sick,” Momo tells, “yet it strived and strived. Till I found you, you pretty thing.”

“Don’t butter me up.” Sana moves so she’s now holding Momo’s hand. Their rings meet, and it makes a loud sound. It happens, but it also makes everything seem in place. “You already have me in this life.”

“Let me finish—I found you and your lips that put the entire rose garden to shame. And then I,” I knew that life was over. “I found Nayeon, too, the one true love we have.”

The world back then was just for you and Nayeon.

“I found her and those eyes that were the color of the Earth.” She held my hand until my last breath. “You were both so beautiful.”

She’s certain that Sana is close to snoring.

“I’m sorry, Momoring.” For all the times I forgot. “I called your transmitter outdated.”

They go back to sleep and dream of their first life.

  
  


Later, someone would turn on Gravity. And off again, like some untrained Martian. The bay door would open, revealing Nayeon in her ridiculous pink suit, announcing that she didn’t find any meat but stacked up more fruits just in case.

“In case what?” Sana sits on the recliner and secures herself to it. Momo is driving next and she doesn’t want to vomit out all those bacon paste.

(The recliner is metal. Momo made cushions from the pieces of cotton of her own bed and gave it to Sana on their 2000th day in space together. Said she didn’t need another bed, just Sana whenever they sleep.

That’s when Sana knew Momo remembers who they are, what they were. They learned then not to keep secrets in the next life, for it only gave them lost time. She had back pain the next day but told Momo it’s the most comfortable chair in all the galaxies.)

“In case you’re willing to keep me.” Nayeon undresses in front of them both. Momo and Sana’s brains turn off at the same time, like a broken machine close to exploding. They don’t know where to focus—on what Nayeon is saying, or on what Nayeon is doing. They would know her body anywhere, would know her words anywhere. “Let me stay here. If that’s okay. I can do the groceries and clean around. I haven’t finished fixing my ship and I don’t know anyone else who could help.”

There isn’t anyone that could help, really. They are in space, so there is no one at all. Not Momo the Milky Way mechanic. Your ship just needs some tweaking, Nayeon. Probably new gas, too. There is no other way but to—

“Stay. I’ll keep you.” Sana sits up from her uncomfortable position, clearing her throat. She’s speaking in a mix of languages they have collected over the times. “I mean, _we._ We will. Sana and Momo.”

A snort, not from Nayeon nor Sana.

“Do not look for anyone,” she continues to express in much simpler words. “No more grocery trips alone. Just be here. With us.”

Nayeon zips up her new tracksuit, searching Momo’s eyes for help. The transmitter shows something in code that only Momo understands. She buckles up and commands Nayeon to take a seat next to her.

The ship glides through space smoothly, much to Sana’s nervousness. The next world is a mystery, but right now everything is in order.

“She can’t speak your formal language well. You can say ours is old.”

“Ancient, like the Earthlings would say.” Nayeon nods in understanding. She gives a small smile, and Momo wonders what her heart sounds like in this life. “But I’m older than you two, right?”

_Aren’t you always?_ “She said you can stay.” Momo smiles back, offering slices of apples in a tube. “And everything else you understood.”

(Sana stays reclined. The song starts again. _Happy birthday._ She ponders on the fact that she and Momo found Nayeon together. _Happy birthday._ And their ship only has one bed.)

//

“Do not start, Sana.” Nayeon swiveled in her chair, attempting to ignore Sana’s ministrations. She brought lunch, in a fitted coat. Nothing else. “You’ve been in a state all day.”

“I thought we said no skipping lunches,” Sana husks in her ear. She’s successfully managed to sit on Nayeon’s lap, after a little or more push. All she got was a slap on her thigh. Which was nice.

Nayeon stares up at her. It was beautiful, the way Sana’s coat was hugging her tight. The winter sun in her eyes reflected from the glass windows. Nayeon would simply give up when this happens—when Sana’s like this, when Sana happens.

“I _was_ going to eat out—” Nayeon noses her neck, taking her time. Sana giggles at her words, opting to stay quiet because she might get another scolding. It would be nice to get one, but really, all she needs right now are praises. “But you surprised me too early, see?”

“Okay,” Sana says mindlessly.

Nayeon hums. Sana smelled of lemons and spices. “What’s that?”

“ _Nayeon_ , for god’s sake,” she whines. Nayeon kisses her cheek, the tip of her nose, her jaw, her neck. Just small pecks. Sana grabs on her hair, making her stay there. “Roasted honey-lemon chicken. Lower, _please_. I heated pasta from last night, too.”

“Sounds good, so good.” Nayeon unbuttons Sana’s coat, revealing skin, and how patiently Sana waited. “You missed me this much?”

Sana nods, leaning in again to kiss her, but Nayeon backs away—smiling wide, annoying. And what else can Sana do? What can she not do for Nayeon?

“I see you everywhere you’re not,” Sana says, fingers twirling the hairs on Nayeon’s nape. “I miss you in places we’ve never been in. And we have been to many.”

Nayeon settles, satisfied, kissing Sana hard and long. And when Sana continues to push her down, Nayeon finally kisses lower. Finally gives up. It’s easy to drown in Sana, to be in Sana.

“I missed you in the morning.” One of her hands is buried in Nayeon’s hair. The other is working its way down Nayeon’s back. And one of Nayeon’s hands is— “When you— _that’s it, baby_ —”

“I get it. Now hush,” Nayeon chuckles. “Don’t be too loud.”

Sana nods, but she also pushes, “When— _yes,_ ” along with her body and her mouth, knowing how Nayeon likes it this way—likes her this way. “When you stand up from the bed, the sheets turn cold instantly. _Good god._ ”

A moment—Sana stills, and so does the world. It will always make Nayeon think—that if they do this, again and again, the world might ultimately stop. And Sana can possibly be the answer.

“Where in the flying Pluto did you learn that?” Sana pants, smiling radiantly. She gives another soft kiss and stays on Nayeon's lap. “Thank you.”

“Pluto can't fly,” Nayeon murmurs on her skin after a while, patting Sana’s behind. “Go away, let me eat my food.”

Sana stands up without a word, only wearing a playful smile, naked and unpacking what she prepared. Her legs wobble a little. Nayeon falls quite deeper in love.

“Button up,” she reminds Sana as she breaks the chopsticks. “Someone might walk in.”

“Call her in then,” Sana suggests. “I missed her, too.”

“No, don’t—” Nayeon shakes her head, cursing when Sana presses the pager. “Sana, get dressed or I’ll—”

_“Hello, Ms. Im. What is it?”_

“Momoring!” Sana beams. “Please come in here.”

_“I—do I need to bring anything?”_

Sana smirks, still all skin and high heels and no clothes. Nayeon loves her. She loves her so much.

“No, just your pretty self.”

Momo comes in exactly five seconds later, while Sana was wrapping herself in her coat, trying to look busy. There’s a teasing smile gracing her lips. Nayeon knew then that she’s had this afternoon all planned out.

Momo clears her throat. “I, uh, I can come back—”

“No, no,” Nayeon stops her. “Come eat with us.”

“Mo,” Sana calls sweetly, waiting for her to come closer. “I cooked for you both. Did I not tell you that?”

Momo nods shyly.

“What,” Nayeon laughs again, because of course, of course, Sana told Momo. And Sana sliced the chicken into bite-sized pieces. “You’re best friends now?”

“I’d like to think we’re much more than that.” Sana winks at a blushing Momo. “Sit here.”

Momo does, walking towards them while staring at the floor. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to reply to your email, Miss Mi—Sana.”

“I told you to give me your number so our messages won’t go through so much—all those encryptions and whatnot. This office is _too_ controlling.” Sana rolls her eyes. “I’ll tell you a secret. ‘Yeonnie here reads them.”

“I do not.” Nayeon points out. “I don’t have time. And I don’t have to. I have Momo’s number. Don’t I, beloved?”

Nayeon was shocked herself, the nickname slipping naturally. Sana watches the scene unfold. It’s fun to see them like this.

_Beloved?_

“That’s new.” In the presence of these two, Momo still doesn’t understand her place. But this _could_ be her place, she thinks. _Am I allowed in here—_ “I suppose it’s only normal for you to have my number? I’m your secretary after all.”

It’s different with Nayeon. She’s a putty mess in Sana’s hands, gulping as the woman opens a lunchbox for her. But with Nayeon, she turns impossibly carefree. Which is the truth she still can’t understand, knowing that she basically owes her whole life to Nayeon by giving her a high-paying job.

Probably too high for a secretarial position.

“Hey, what about me?” Sana butts in on her running thoughts. “I, too, want to call you however I want.”

_Then call me however—_

“Right,” she answers, shivering slightly when Sana tucks a loose hair behind her ear. Momo has long given up trying to resist her. “I could give it to you now, my number, but I don’t think it’s professional—”

“Who said I wanted to be professional?” Sana looked lovingly into her eyes. This is when Momo should look away. Should not flirt so blatantly with her boss’s wife. “Did Nayeon tell you that?”

“I did _not_ ,” Nayeon says and throws tissue at Sana. Momo wonders if Nayeon has given up, too. “You just suck at feelings.”

_Feelings—_

“That’s true.” Sana pouts, sitting back on the chair and crossing her legs. Momo is only human. “I only ever dated two. Isn’t that right, darling?”

It’s in the way she said it that made Momo weak. She chokes on the damn chicken.

_Darling—_

“Yes, darling,” Sana replies, anticipating. Did Momo say that out loud— “By the way, do you finally have an answer to my offer?”

“An offer, huh.” Nayeon knits her brows. “Why do you have so many conversations I am not aware of?”

“You do know,” Sana giggles, that light one she uses when she’s being cute. “Dinner, Christmas eve, Sana Claus in lingerie, wine, movies…”

_Sana What—in what—_

“She said Sana Claus in lingerie. She’s quirky like that.” Nayeon shrugs. “Also, I’ll just pretend you told me, Sana, about your lovely invitation.”

Between the banter, Momo sits quietly and wants to ask—does she ever even need to say things aloud when she’s in between them—

Sana’s phone rings. She answers it in an accent and a language Momo knows. Nayeon saw her shocked expression, mouthing, _Isn’t she hot?_ or at least that's what Momo hears.

“I better go. Leave you two babies to work.” Sana makes a show before she leaves, leaning incredibly close to Nayeon, telling her, _I would like to surprise you again,_ and then more kissing.

Sana felt that Momo was staring with mouth agape at her back view, but no one else needed to know that. She has embarrassed the poor thing enough.

“And you,” she says, turning to Momo and lifting her chin with a finger. “Come to dinner. I’ll cook your favorite dish.”

She walks away gracefully, sweeping her hair to one side, the sound of her heels resounding. She was halfway out when Momo called, “You know my favorite?”

Sana pauses by the door. Momo noticed Nayeon stopped whatever she was doing, too. There will be many more questions, but today, at this moment, that was it.

“Of course, darling,” Sana answers after a beat. “I’ll know you anywhere.”

_What does that even—_

Nayeon is left with Momo in her office. Not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable, Nayeon tells her that she can go.

“Hey,” Nayeon says before Momo goes back to her cubicle. “Was that okay? I hope Sana wasn’t too much.”

“No.” In fact, it was just right. “It’s Poke, by the way.”

Nayeon looks up from all the paperwork. “Sorry?”

“Poke.” Momo assumes her place—it’s here, in this space. Allow me to be here. “My favorite dish.”

(Nayeon heard it clear the first time.)

//

Momo wakes up in a body that is seventeen.

It usually starts too young, too old, too rich, too poor. But this time, she’s in high school. And she has a sister. And her feet are touching the floor.

“I’ll shower first.” Her sister has pink hair. Momo went to a party last night. “You stink, but I have an 8 am class.”

"Sure."

She wonders what language she just spoke.

Please let it be something Nayeon will understand. At least let Sana be in the next room.

  
  


Momo, as it turns out, also had an 8 am class. She was late.

“Hirai,” a stern voice called. There’s always a first for everything, even after so many lives. This one was her first schooling. “Third time you skipped my class in a week. Do I need to call your parents?”

I saw them this morning. My breath smelled of beer. They couldn’t care less. Call Nayeon instead. “No, sir, I apologize. It’s—”

Momo pauses. The professor snaps his fingers. “It’s what?”

If Momo blinked even for a millisecond, she would’ve missed it.

“Sana,” she says her name, almost tearing up. She chuckles, can’t believe it only took a day. Sana was in pigtails. “ _Shit,_ her hair is yellow?”

“Miss Hirai—”

“I’ll take detention,” Momo accepts absentmindedly, eyes on the way Sana was tiptoeing and searching for a certain door. “You have detention, right?”

They don’t. “Community work. After school. For two weeks. And submit your papers on time!”

  
  


Momo runs. She hopes this seventeen-year-old heart won’t have a sudden infarction. Please no. Not yet.

“I have crossed deserts of lost time, just to find you.”

Sana turns, hair following her every move. Is it possible, Momo thinks, to be so exasperatingly perfect in every sense of the word—

“Sorry?”

Right, of course. “I’m—”

“Are you new here, too?”

“Huh? Ah, no.” She coughs. It hurts a little. I woke up intoxicated, Sana, on a planet I do not remember. And of course, of course, you do not remember. A heart attack sounds so good right now. “Um, t-this is—what class are you in?”

Sana is taller. Prettier, probably. Momo hasn’t looked at herself. Sana’s nose is perfect, her _ears_ are perfect, her lashes— “A13. This is the room, right?”

Momo checks. She hopes that she has memories of this school, just to impress Sana. She can read the sign though, surprisingly. Language isn’t hard.

“Yeah, it’s here.” Momo opens the door. “We’re in the same class, S—”

Sana has brown eyes. Again. Stop having brown eyes. Please.

“S-so—uh, yeah. We can be friends—I mean, I _hope_ we can be friends. I’m Momo. Hirai.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Sana claps and her feet are on springs. Momo thinks it must be from their last Saturn trip, when Sana skipped from one moon to another— “You’re Japanese, too! I thought I was the only one!”

What’s a Japanese. “Yeah.”

They had two classes before lunch. Sana walks beside her. Momo wishes Nayeon isn’t too far. She has already sent glares on five useless boys. And it’s only been a few hours. Tomorrow, everyone would be kneeling before Sana’s grace.

That’s nothing new.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Sana is reminded, smiling as she walks in a backward manner towards the cafeteria. Why did you dye your hair this color, Momo begs to ask. It makes me want to take answers from the universe. “My name is Sana.”

(In the first desert, Momo was hopeful.)

  
  


She finds Nayeon in a convenience store.

Her tie was loose. Her hair was in a bun. Her lipstick was dark red. And her socks were the same color as the clouds. It’s Momo’s third week in a place called Seoul.

Fitting, she thinks. To look for a soul in such a place.

“Do you have a problem, dumbass?”

Momo should be scared, really. But this is the Nayeon she played with in the fields. The one she slowed down for in every race. Come on.

“You have crumbs—” Momo points to her cheek. Nayeon swats her hand. “There.”

“Fuck off, will you?” Nayeon scrubs the table across Momo. “I’m working. Go away.”

I wish I could. The rain is falling too hard. “Do you have an umbrella?”

“The—” Nayeon scoffs. “Do I look like I need one?”

Momo laughs. “No, I was asking so I could borrow yours.”

Sana noticed how she never laughs, or it’s hard to make her. For someone so goofy, Sana said when she was finally on top of Momo, you don’t laugh that much.

You’re right, Momo replied, taking off Sana’s shirt. Not much.

“You have terrible humor.” Nayeon takes out a jacket, wraps it around her body. They are now three chairs apart.

This body of yours, Momo dreams of saying. It’s so you.

“What did you say?”

“What did you hear?”

“You said something.”

“I didn’t.” Momo stands up, stretches and yawns. She carries this habit in every other world. The rain is torrential. “Wanna play?”

(In the second desert, she couldn’t hear Nayeon’s heart.)

  
  


“I missed you more than I thought I would,” Sana whispers on her mouth, “and I expected to miss you very much.”

It was Momo’s line—years ago, in a room of pearls and bedsheets. She’s glad. This could be a breakthrough. Sana is remembering, slowly. Maybe.

“Say it again?” There are a lot of ways she can get Sana. In another world, they did this with eyes closed. Right now, Sana wanted the lights on. It made Momo’s heart lurch. Sana is pure delight. “You’re so—you’re pretty, you know?”

Sana whines. Whimpers, mostly. Like a hurt, spoiled kitten.

“Momoring,” and there it is, the voice that could surpass time, “ _please._ ”

Of course. In this world, she can have all of Sana. It took them three years and twenty-two ice cream dates.

“I found—” She blows on Sana’s neck and giggles. She can take her time, this must be what Nayeon told her back then. In some worlds, she can take her much needed time. “I found Seoul.”

If there is anything that could make Sana recognize her anywhere, it’s her kiss. She makes sure to spell Nayeon’s name in every peck. It’s the easiest language.

If that doesn’t work—well then. It doesn’t.

“Yeah, baby? What did you find?”

The baby is Momo. It’s cute, Sana has convinced her. Though Momo thinks darling is a far better name. They’ve used it in all eras. And she isn't a baby. Never was.

“More of a who—” Momo was unbuttoning her jeans. Sana sat up, helped her out. She was nearing her favorite part—of Sana. Ask Momo, it’s her— “I found our—my one true love.”

Sana’s fingers stopped working. She was looking up at Momo with those big brown eyes. And to Momo, it was just so cruel. Sana was already standing up.

In this universe, 70% percent of couples break-up on their third anniversary.

“Don’t—” Momo could have said it better. “Don’t go— _darling_ , please, it’s not what you think—”

(In the third desert, there wasn’t a Sana.)

  
  


Momo rode the same train. Sat on the same seat. She’s graduating today. She had to tell Nayeon.

“You’re following me.”

“No.” Momo settles on the last chair, just near the door. She chooses the people passing by over Nayeon’s indifferent eyes. “I was looking for you.”

Nayeon owned one jacket in this life. And she was always in her uniform. But today, underneath her apron that Momo has grown to admire, she had flowers on her shirt and wore the whitest sneakers.

“I have a date.”

Momo flinches. An uncalled burn. Nayeon never had anybody else.

“I’m graduating.”

“Oh.” Nayeon sits on the chair beside her. She bites on a bacon and egg sandwich. Now she looks like a squirrel. Momo remembers the horrible bacon paste. The quiet in space. The breakfasts with Sana. And it aches—right beneath her ribs—to be broken up with. “Cool.”

“Does it hurt,” she asks while sipping on banana milk, “when you forget?”

If she had the Nayeon from the fields, Momo would have made perfect sense.

_Beloved,_ Nayeon would've said in the most Nayeon way, not answering the question but still comforting, _I always am in dire need of your steady presence._

Nayeon would've come near her. Nayeon would've been gentle. _So as to be aware—_ Nayeon would've caressed her face, Nayeon would've loved her— _that it’s the universe that’s going mad, not me._

Nayeon wouldn’t have laughed at Momo’s fears. 

“What did you say?”

“I’m scared. What if nothing survives?” Momo continues in this forsaken language. She hates it. Hates speaking in this tongue. She watches the sun outside. It’s a billion years old, so close to its end. It’s been expanding in size. All its values are high—exemplary. It will be too hot, too soon. There would be nothing left. Not even deserts. “But there’s this—a greater fear—that something really would.”

_So, yes._ In this world, Nayeon calls her weird. _My love,_ _yes, it hurts so much._

Nayeon is one chair away.

“I can forgive the world, even if that happens. No matter how unfair.” Momo lays her head down on the table. It smells of bleach. She’s dozing off, tired from traveling alone. “Only because mine has you.”

She sleeps until it stops raining. Sana enters the store, hurries to kiss Nayeon on the cheek. Nayeon ends her shift. Sana warns her to be careful of the job and refrain from talking to strangers.

“She’s not some random stranger,” Nayeon says as she tangles her hand with Sana’s, leaving a bacon and egg sandwich on the table. “More like, a familiar stranger. She comes here a lot.”

Momo dreams of space. When she woke up, the sun was gone.

(In the fourth desert—this was it.)

//

There’s the quiet, again, until—“Captain,” she whines for more, takes off Nayeon’s tie, raises her own skirt, unties her own hair. Wavy, unruly, messy. “Remember, back at home, my girl—”

And Nayeon wonders what this means—should she stop kissing down for the sake of someone she doesn’t know, stop marking this woman’s neck for someone else she doesn’t even care about—

“My girlfriend— _goodness, Captain_ —do you remember—”

What she remembers is a particular spot that could make Sana tremble, figured this after the third time. It feels and tastes sweet; like pushing navigation controls, ready wings would take position, engines would roar, skies would open, they’re taking flight, that twisting feeling in the stomach, legs up, fingers brushing, fingers descending, fingers—

“She—she wants to meet you.”

This part, grabbing anything—edge of the counter, tissue container, uniforms, hair—Nayeon likes. The loud whispers, deep groans, taste of lipstick, giving, receiving—

“What, she knows? About us?”

She’s not rude, it’s still consensual. Her back hits the door, hoping no one is outside. That thrill feels beautiful; like flying, but much closer.

“Of course, she does. I don’t cheat.” Sana tuts, shakes her head. Her lips are so soft and plump, so soft and plump, so soft and plump.

There’s another turbulence, much heavier than the last. Nayeon’s mind flies to the co-captain she left manning the pit, thinking if she has warned her about—

“Where has your mind gone,” Sana calls again, more sweetly, almost shy, embarrassed, blushing. Purring. “A woman is on her knees, in front of you.”

And there is nothing else but her, this woman, even after Nayeon came down from the high. Highs. Two of them. It’s like landing, but much gentler.

“You mustn’t forget this, Captain,” she whispers quietly. Nayeon’s neck is being wrapped in a purple scarf, bright and silky, hiding their little adventure. It contrasts her black uniform, now creased and crumpled. “You mustn’t forget me.”

  
  


The gates open just as Nayeon steps off of the escalator.

“Just landed, darling,” she hears a squeal. Almost familiar—super familiar—and Nayeon blushes at the memory. She’s near, so near that she can hear their conversation. “Did you wait long?”

There is the sound of luggage wheels rolling, announcements for the last evening flight, and— “Momoring!”

Sana runs, clumsily at that, to a woman, to _Momoring._ Everyone awake at such a late hour looks in their direction. The airport isn’t filled tonight.

Though Nayeon hopes that Sana would be. That this Momoring would do it, for her, for Sana. Filled to the brim. Much better than Nayeon does, though she doubts anyone is better.

The couple spins, Sana beams in delight. They kiss, too. It’s a cute movie scene that Nayeon doesn’t have time for. She passes by them as if she and Sana didn’t spend nights in narrow stalls together, skin-to-skin, open-mouthed, wet kisses—

“Captain!”

She doesn’t have time for this. Not tonight, so she ducks her head, pretends she doesn’t hear. But her wrist gets caught, a familiar tug, and she’s forced to turn, then— “This is my girlfriend, the one I wanted you to meet—well, the _only_ one.”

When Nayeon does an immediate once-over—which was very informal, but the girl was flipping hot, with wild black hair, a wonderful smile, big round eyes, much like Sana’s—she guesses she could make time. Just for tonight.

“Ah, yes, right. Im Nayeon.”

They shake hands.

“Hirai Momo.” Has she mentioned the smile? No? Okay. The smile. “Nice to finally meet you. Sana told me lots of stories.”

“About?” The teasing, kissing, hickeys, closed doors, purple scarves, edge of the counter—

“You.”

Nayeon’s knees almost give up. Momo is blatant. She’s smirking. And god, Nayeon should get a hold of herself.

“Good stories?”

“Depends on who’s listening.”

“Could be worth my time.”

“Okay!” Sana claps, hugging Momo’s side and kissing her cheek. “Sorry to cut the tension. I’m rather famished. Dinner, Captain?”

Dinner at two in the morning? Sure. Sana is wearing an oversized Sailor Moon shirt. Momo, a satin nightgown covered in a white cotton bathrobe. Nayeon in her uniform.

_The night would end with all these on the floor._ _Hopefully._

And none of them knows whose heart said that, but Sana was content with just hearing it.

“So,” Nayeon attempts to start a conversation. “Sana and Momo.”

“Always,” Sana tries. There could be another glitch. “It’s always Sana and Momo. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Momo nods, gulping down the wine. Sana eats with her feet up on the chair, giggles at anything that Momo says. Like a baby. Eats, too, like a baby. Nayeon can’t help but wipe the crumb off of her mouth. Momo doesn’t mind.

“I don’t mind,” she says over steak and wine. Four, six glasses of wine. “What you’re doing, you and Sana. I don’t mind.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I like it.”

“Kinky.”

And Sana laughs. Momo wrinkles her nose in Sana’s direction. They’re so.

“Captain, be nice.”

“I am nice.” Nayeon shrugs. Sana’s hand is on her lap. And she wonders, here, if this is okay, if this is something they do. Take someone home, make them feel like curling up, dinner for three, kiss for a show—a good show—and serve them wine. “This is me being nice.”

  
“Nayeon.” Momo stands, albeit sluggishly. The music plays, then she reaches for Sana’s hand. Asks to dance. Nayeon—for some reason that she thinks the wine has a huge contribution on—doesn’t feel out of place. Nayeon forgets to remind Momo to use honorifics, because they’re not close, not friends. Perhaps it’s not forgetting, more remembering— “I don’t need to call you Captain, too, right?”

They’re drunk, aren’t they?

“Please, just Nayeon.”

“Okay, Nayeon, this is us,” Momo says, smiling, voice muffled because her mouth is on Sana’s neck. “We drink and dance, and love and trust. Isn’t this woman the prettiest in the world? And you’ve been all around the world, have you not?”

Yes, except here. I think I would remember if I’ve been here before.

“It would be cruel, no?” Momo cups Sana’s cheek, taking her chin softly. Sana pinches her waist, a detail Nayeon doesn’t miss. She loosens her arms around her girlfriend, roaming those hands on her back instead, mouth opening just a bit, for play, so as to wait. Always patient. “To keep her here, solely for me. Such cruelty, when she has so much love to give.”

They kiss while swaying to a song that talks about the moon. Sana recites love poems into Momo’s mouth, and Nayeon’s heart roars louder than engines, soaring now, soaring, soaring, be quiet—

“Sana,” Momo sings to the tune, changing the lyrics to whatever she can come up with. Sana takes off her robe, kissing and kissing. They both laugh, so much so that they stumble. Sana’s back hits the island counter, but Momo’s hand on her back softens the blow. _“All I worship and adore.”_

Nayeon wonders what it is that she’s supposed to do. This one, this part, is particularly new. So she drinks, watches, pretends she doesn’t want her own tongue in—

“ _Momoring_ ,” and another giggle, partnered with the sweetest tone, “my darling, please.” Much, much sweeter than _there, yes, right there, you’re so good at that, at what you do, at everything you do, at everything you’re being, Captain, at being everything you are—_ “Since when did you become such a show-off?”

I wish you’d call me something else.

“I’ve been showing you off since the beginning of time,” Momo hums on Sana’s thigh. Nayeon wants to cry for help. “Your Captain even took the bait.”

Sana kisses her girlfriend, says thank you, stays on the island counter, arms around her shoulders. All spent and cheeks red, she calls, “ _My_ Captain?”

So, Nayeon clears her throat, fixes her tie, wipes her hand on her slacks. Please, please call me something else. “Yes?”

Momo’s back is turned to Nayeon. She can only see Sana’s eyes, peeking from Momo’s shoulder. Her fingers play with each other, and it’s adorable, heart-wrenchingly adorable, how her legs are still wrapped around Momo’s hips. This allowed Momo to tickle Sana, and not a second later, loud laughter replaced the music.

Sana’s arms are outstretched, telling Nayeon to come closer. So Nayeon does, and now Momo is in between them, being lulled to sleep by their secrets and warmth.

Nayeon could feel their hearts in sync. Sana is bright, Sana is happy. Momo is sleepy, Momo is happy. And it’s absolutely horrifying how, while there is an absence of words, Nayeon still knows all these things.

“I have a flight tomorrow.”

“And I’ll follow,” Sana quips, smiling as she mindlessly takes Nayeon’s arms and puts them around Momo’s waist—it’s okay, you know this body. “Wherever you go, to the ends of the world.”

You love this body, just as much as I do.

“But you’re not on that flight,” Nayeon insists, though it’s hard when she hears Momo softly snore on Sana’s shoulder. “So I must go, alone.”

“No you don’t,” it was more of a plea. “My dearest— _Captain_ ,” a slip of the tongue. _Remember,_ Sana wanted to cry. “You don’t have to be alone.” The universe must be having fun, playing with something so infinitely fragile. “Please, stay the night.”

_Please,_ Sana prays, burying herself further in Momo’s scent, while she holds Nayeon’s face, kissing her. _Remember._

(In this life, Sana is the only one who does.)

//

Something shifts.

It’s Sana, twirling in a little black dress designed with sequins and feathers. Her pearl necklace is by far the most expensive jewelry Momo has ever lavished on.

Worth it, she thinks. Oh, definitely.

(Something snaps. It’s Sana.)

“I will take great offense if you, even for half a second, take your eyes off of me.” She fixes her earrings, existence perfect in every sense of the word. Momo can handle perfect. “I said, how do I look? And hurt me if you must.”

Tonight her lips are fiery red. Tonight her voice is honey-dipped. Tonight and those expectant eyes. Tonight with champagne.

“Okay,” Momo exhales. Tries and fails.

Three, six seconds of complete silence. Sana rolls her eyes. A habit she has brought in every life.

(Momo is fine with that. Momo lives for that. Momo crumbles because of that.)

“You’re _terrible_ ,” Sana tells her. She steps in her heels and turns to the mirror.

“With words, yes, darling.” She smiles, standing up and walking towards Sana. “I’m not the one who writes for a living.”

Momo is dressed, too, in warm, soiled bedsheets. 

“Do I look boring?”

Momo gasps. “How dare you call yourself boring. Don’t you know that I dream of your face too much?”

Sana gives up, letting Momo envelop her in an embrace.

“My friends, they want nothing else but parties,” Sana adds more lipstick. The line of her mouth gets thicker. Momo leaves a kiss on her back. “Dancing, drinking. Alcohol runs in their bloodstream.”

It will always, always be hard to focus when Sana is fancily dressed. She’s too much to bear.

“And my boss—” and her job that she always talks about, “she wants us all in heels. To get investors, she said. How do you dance in high heels? And what am I to do with such _investors_ when I already have you?” 

“Mm, right, fire her,” Momo hums on her skin, and Sana would answer every time—I don’t think that’s how it works.

But tonight it’s— “Get dressed already, and look the best for me.”

They sway to some upbeat jazz. Sana’s favorite. It’s almost always all about Sana.

“Okay, but let me take my time. I need to look at you a little while.”

Something turns. It’s Sana, in her arms. Switching from that rich daddy’s girl to an illicit secret as she wraps her arms around Momo’s shoulders.

“Silly, don’t butter me up.” It’s the way Sana said it that makes Momo want to stay in that room, stay buried in bedsheets. 

And Momo is fine with that. Lives for that. Is whole because of that.

“You can look longer at the party.” The lipstick is being put on Momo’s lips, taking long streaks there as she stares at Sana’s own mouth. “Though I prefer you in this, or in less.”

Momo has something to say, has been thinking about it, has been scared.

“I lived long enough to tell you.” The bedsheets that were around her are now on the floor. “You may be the stars in human form. Or the stars, they are trying to look like you, in which case they are failing. Very much so. You’re true, truer, darling, my love. You’re—”

“When will you talk to me directly, Momoring,” Sana mumbles on her lips. She kisses Momo tenderly, impeding their fashionable arrival at the party. “As a writer myself, I argue that you’re helpless.”

“Devoted,” Momo argues. She tucks a stray hair behind Sana’s ear, followed by her mouth kissing the skin there. “Terrible, helpless, attracted…”

Her hands are all over Sana’s body, praising, worshipping, giving thanks. Every word, a kiss.

“You have lured me in with your words, you must know. You did it so selfishly. Now I am devoted to you, all my life. My words are stringed to your heart, and they only make sense when it’s you they are spoken to—”

There are moments, rare, when Sana is the one who runs out of bullets, like right now. She’s being held down, successfully. Instead of English, there is a loud, frustrated groan. “You—”

“Are getting dressed, yes, darling.”

Momo does so while dancing to the song. Sana watched, adoring.

  
  
  


“You came.”

Nayeon sits cross-legged in front of her. This is the setup—like kindergarten.

“I did.” Momo picks on the carpet. It was the only thing interesting in that bland room. “I drank two glasses last night. And had lots of sex.”

Nayeon shifts, reaching for papers and colored pens. She passes some to Momo in an attempt to look cool. That was the setup—like a high school party.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Momo files three papers together, poking a hole in the center. At least she thinks it’s the center.

“Hmm.” Nayeon makes a gesture like she’s really thinking about it. “No, I don’t have anything to say. Maybe later.”

Nayeon starts to draw. Momo peeks to see if she actually was.

(She was.)

“There was loud music, and girls, and drinks,” Momo continues. “I felt like I was there before. It made me so sad. My chest—it felt so heavy that I just—”

Nayeon pauses. She does that a lot whenever Momo says something. Momo thinks it’s just her, processing the new revelation. But then she goes back to whatever she was doing, and Momo will wait for an answer.

It’s often distracting; like Momo is the doctor and Nayeon is the patient. But it works for them both. Momo likes it, likes being in control of her sessions.

“Was Sana there,” Nayeon asks out-of-the-blue. She was drawing a castle. And a plane. At least that's what Momo thinks it is.

“I—” Momo starts. “There were lots of people. But I felt _so_ —yes, Sana was okay. She was there. She was beautiful, very. She wore the—that stuff I gave. But the others, it was just too much.”

They don't need to talk about how much she spent on Sana. Nayeon nods. Attempts to draw a sandwich. Momo leans forward and picks purple from the array of colors, searching her brain for any inspiration. She draws a teddy bear and a heart.

“Do you know—” No, but tell me. Wait, I do. I do know. I have known you for so long, so well, that I would know you anywhere, hear your heart _anywhere_ — “she told me she loves me.”

"Oh?" Nayeon pretends to be nonchalant. Of course, of course, Sana does. She does so much. “Is that a good thing?”

It’s the best thing in the world. That she has you. And you have her. Momo shrugs.

“I haven’t said it back.”

“Yeah?” Nayeon finally looks up. “Do you want me to call you an idiot?”

“You’re my therapist,” Momo says, drawing smiley faces and sunglasses on the suns she drew. “Yes, please, call me an idiot.”

“You know—” Nayeon extends her legs because it will soon feel numb and prickly. “For a smart woman, I must say you really are dense.”

Momo groans, laying like a starfish. Nayeon’s room is light yellow, like daisies.

“I fucking hate your ceiling.”

Nayeon lays beside her, places her hands under her head. She put glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling. It was of the moon, the stars, and Mars. At least that's what Nayeon told her.

“What are those?” Momo points to the far right, like finding answers to a mystery that is too familiar. Nayeon always has a new drawing.

Nayeon smiles, because god, how the universe works is so unfunny.

“Those are horses.”

“They don’t look like horses. Alright, first, why are there horses beside—what is that even?” Momo props her head on her elbow, now lying on her side. “And why are there trees on your windows? Do you know that all of those colors are distracting? They are so green. It makes my head hurt.”

Suddenly, the carpet isn’t the only thing worth picking on.

“And you always eat bacon and egg sandwiches,” Momo adds. “They smell.”

Their faces are so close now that Nayeon could kiss her, that Nayeon should say, Ms. Hirai, please, maintain an appropriate doctor-patient distance. But instead, Momo plops back down, crossing her arms and huffing. Nayeon wonders if she should take her time in this life.

Momo closes her eyes, and Nayeon knows that right now, Momo hears Sana’s laugh. Hears Sana’s heart. Because in this close distance, Nayeon can hear Momo's, too.

“Sana,” Momo says. Nayeon doesn’t know if it was out loud. “She hates bacon and egg.”

//

“Nayeon-unnie,” Sana calls from the kitchen. “We’re going on V-App later. Do you want to join us?”

“I will, Sana-ya, let me just—”

Nayeon comes out of the shower, still in her robe, wet hair sticking on her shoulders. She almost slips, until Momo holds her in place. “Hey, be careful.”

There’s genuine concern in Momo’s eyes, then fear, and then they crack up, and Nayeon almost slips again because she _swears_ there are a million moons in front of her.

But she diverts, as always, because what else can she do— “ _Hey?_ You said _hey?_ ”

In between tickles and laughter—Momo on the floor, and Nayeon in her robe—Sana comes in and announces her presence, all pouty and needy, “What’s happening here?”

“I saved unnie from slipping,” Momo answers, out of breath and clutching on her stomach, “but I said it informally, so…” She has tears in her eyes from laughing too much. “Did you finish dinner?”

“It’s decent,” Sana lies. “I think.”

“I bought tomatoes.” Nayeon dresses in front of them. “Let’s try them out?”

Sana and Momo are used to it by now, used to seeing her flaws and her little marks, moles, even the dimples on her back. It’s the result of having spent the last five years together. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, Sana knows it. But Nayeon’s ego was already fed this morning when Momo uploaded a picture of her on social media, basically kissing her feet, captioned it with, _Peach-unnie is the prettiest girl in all the world._

So really, does Sana even have to say it _out loud_ — 

“What else do we have? I fried some sausage and only reheated what we had at lunch,” she asks, still trying to take her eyes away. It feels wrong, but she also knows this isn’t invasive. This is simply—Sana doesn’t know. Maybe for research.

“Do you want me to order instead?” Momo snaps herself awake, like turning off a switch. Sana almost points it out—almost—but decided against it, just like how she decided against posting an Instagram Story about the ice cream that Nayeon bought for her. She planned to boast about it to everyone; Nayeon knows her, knows her favorite ice cream, even that one ice cream from childhood, remembers these big things about her, even the littlest ones, she knows everything, remembers everything. “I’m so hungry.”

She can upload it another day.

Nayeon wears a shirt, finally, popping her head from the hole, all bunny teeth and giggles, “Aren’t you always?”

(And it’s in the way she said it that made Momo feel—something.)

They found themselves cooking up eggs and tomatoes at the ungodly hours of the night while a voice VLive is on. They have mastered the art of streaming and being natural at it; especially with Momo, who could spend seven hours talking to the fans. 

“Momo cooks, Sana and I eat,” Nayeon says with sheer admiration. “It works that way.” 

She has no make-up on, which of course, Sana and Momo see every day. Momo jokes that _she looks quite different, ONCE. Wait ‘til you see her without—_

Sana giggles, like she always does, but this one is the kind that rings in Nayeon’s ears, staying there longer than wanted. She's munching on another bite of gimbap, and how lovely she looks under this kitchen light.

“Momo fixes the bed,” Sana says in the midst of chewing, “while unnie and I sleep on it.”

Momo puts another plate in front of them, laughing like a child, and that’s when Nayeon feels it—that same beat, resounding beneath her ribs— “That’s also true. I do all the work in this house.”

“Momo-chan,” Sana laughs even more, switching to Japanese seamlessly, even when Nayeon mostly just guesses whatever they are saying. They’re all just a bunch of kids, even Nayeon is aware of that. She just hopes they won’t have a problem with the neighbors. “I always sleep on your bed. Oops, there, I said it.”

Nayeon elbows her, because _Sana, the fans don’t know we are living in separate dorms now,_ and she poked her cheek, which made Sana scrunch her nose, because _Sana, you’re so adorable._

“ONCE,” Sana calls again, changing the conversation, and it’s sweet, so sweet, Momo thinks, how she appreciates everything, doesn’t forget to thank people, doesn’t ever, ever forget— “We need to go now. It’s late and it’s Monday—”

“Yes, we all need to go to work,” Nayeon added when she saw the disagreeing comments, “Let’s cheer up and do our best tomorrow.”

And really, what else can Momo say— “Don’t eat before going to bed, ONCE. Just don’t.”

Nayeon would hit her shoulder, would laugh until she fell from the chair, because _Momo, you make me so, so happy._

It would go on like this, in this life. None of them would say anything but—Momo bids goodbye, waving her hands even if the camera isn’t on, Sana follows after, high-pitched giggling while singing her verse from Sleep Tight, Good Night, Nayeon’s hilarious hysterics filling the little home they have, her tummy being in so much pain that her face is probably red, their laughter and hearts in sync—

When the sun rises, this is the only thing they hear.

  
  
///

**Author's Note:**

> im starting to notice how i write and its been making me very conscious. /SIGH/ also some of the stories are familiar because i made it into one-shots back then and deleted them after... sooo now they’re here again. :D


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